Page 81 of The Most Perfect Wrong

“Why not? I’m your fiancée.”

“Don’t we all deserve a little bit of privacy?” he says, his voice softening as if he’s trying to diffuse the situation.

“Yeah, I get that you want privacy. But I want to know your password, Brad.”

“I’m not giving you my password.”

“Why not? Do you have something to hide?”

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “No, I don’t have something to hide. God, where is this coming from?”

“Okay… well, then open your phone and let’s go through it together. You can show me. Who’s texting you on Christmas Day?”

Brad stands, frustration clear in his voice. “Why are you being crazy, Cooper? Where is this coming from?”

“I’m not crazy, Brad.”

“Fuck. Did you talk to Ryan?”

“What?… No.” We stare at each other, the tension simmering.

“Then why are you asking to see my phone all of a sudden?”

“Why are you asking if I talked to Ryan?” I’m genuinely confused. Why would he even bring Ryan up? Does he know about my texts with him?

“You didn’t talk to Ryan?”

“No…” I say slowly, unsure of what he’s getting at.

“Fine.” He grabs his phone and lies back down next to me. He enters his password deliberately, making sure I see it, and then opens his phone, holding it out.

I reach for it, but he pulls back just before I can grab it. “Now get yours. We’ll trade. You can go through mine, and I’ll go through yours.”

Shit.I did not see this coming. Panic consumes me.

“My phone’s downstairs.”

“No problem. I’ll get it. Where is it?”

I sit up quickly. “No, I can go get it.”

“No. I’ll get it. Where is it, Cooper?”

“Um… I’m not sure. Somewhere in the kitchen, probably.” My heart pounds wildly in my chest.

Brad turns on his heel and heads downstairs. I take a shaky breath and reach under the pillow for my phone. Swiping up, I quickly open my text messages. I delete the entire text thread with Ryan—I don’t have time to be selective. It’s all or nothing.

I go to the top of the stairs. “Brad?” I call out. “My phone’s up here.”

Brad appears at the bottom of the stairs, looking up at me, and then climbs back up, meeting me at the top.

I hand him my phone. “Sorry, I forgot I left it in the bathroom.”

He gives a curt nod. “Right.”

We sit side by side on the bed, the silence heavy between us. Guilt gnaws at me; I feel like a hypocrite. I wanted to see Brad’s phone because I was so sure he had something to hide—that he was cheating on me. But it turns out, I’m the one with secrets, with text messages to hide, feelings for someone else. He handed over his phone, and I had to lie.

I scroll through his texts, emails, social media accounts. I hate this. It feels gross. What kind of relationship is this if I feel like I have to do this? I’m not even sure what to look for. I knowthere are secret apps people can download that look like normal apps to hide affairs, but I wouldn’t even know how to check for something like that.

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